Chapter 38: End of An Affair

The wind was very strong coming up-river from the Irish Sea. Sleet was mingling with the driving rain. Joyce and Gordon could only just make out the road as they clung together, heading for the distant pub.

It hadn't seemed that far in the car but it was well over a mile to the Golden Ball and it took them half an hour, thankfully with the wind at their backs, before they saw the building they were seeking. Its bar and lounge lights flickered through what was becoming a swirling sleet and snowstorm, but the pub was still some distance away.

It was another 15 minutes before they reached their sanctuary. On the opposite and town-side of the river, unseen in the dark, was Gordon's workplace. Lancaster was just up river from there. The Lune would have to be crossed. Home was a long way away from this side of the water.

At last, they reached the slope from road to pub and staggered up it through the front entrance. Last orders had just been called. Only two farm-workers and two fishermen were left in the pub.

"My god!" exclaimed the landlord when the two sorry figures appeared in the doorway, "Where the hell have you two come from? Been for a swim?"

They stood inside the entrance, covered in snow and dripping water to the floor. Warmth from the open fires was so welcome! They were perished with cold.

The fisherman who was seated with his face to the door remarked to his friends, "Look what the tide's brought in!"

The others turned as one. Gordon and Joyce were nearly exhausted. They were blue with cold and absolutely wet through. Poor Joyce, wished that she hadn't left her knickers at home. She was freezing everywhere.

The landlord did his best for them. He put some more logs on one of the fires. He hung their coats up to dry and they stood in front of the flames shivering. Their limbs tingled and were painful as the circulation returned to them. He boiled some water and they had rum and sugar in it. Steam rose in clouds from them.

The customers didn't quiz them. The landlord did that.

They told him about the car that they'd abandoned.

"Can we hire one from somebody?"
"None of these lot have motors. Nobody round here owns a car love!"

The pub was on an embankment, parallel with the river, and protected by stone-facing when the water rose. High tides left it isolated from the rest of the world for up to four hours at a time.

Joyce entreated, "Well my friend just has to be back in Lancaster quickly. Somehow I have to go back to Morecambe. Can I ring for help?"

It was no use. Nobody round there had a phone.

The customers' heads were close together. They kept their voices down but Gordon heard two comments,

"Nice bit of fluff!" and
"Having a bit of nooky, I guess!"

There was a lot of laughter from them.

Gordon could not, definitely could not, see anything funny in the situation.

The landlord was a jovial man. He was tolerant and sympathetic. He was astute. He was resourceful. He pondered the problem for a while then whispered to Gordon, "I might be able to find you some help."

"How? Anything will do! So long as I get home soon!"

The landlord scratched the side of his nose then asked, "Have you got much brass with you?"
"Usual story!" Gordon thought. "Everything comes down to money!"
"No," he replied, "hardly any."
" I've plenty," Joyce intervened quickly. "What have you in mind?"

The landlord nodded in the direction of his customers, "Well, Harry over there has a bit of a boat and he might take your friend as far as St. George's Quay. And Sid has a pony and cart and he might give you a lift to Morecambe or to a bus-stop on Morecambe Road."

Joyce hesitated.

"You can't stay here love. Golden rule of the Golden Ball. As soon as that tide starts coming over the road, it's everybody out and off home. They'll tell you. Same for everybody."

Joyce made up her mind.

"How much?"

An old smugglers' haunt, the landlord's predecessors had a long history of making a few bob on the side. The present occupant knew what was what when it came to evaluating a situation.

"It won't be cheap. What with the time of the night and the weather! And it's a fair distance!"

He gave the matter some thought, stroked his chin, furrowed his brow and came up with a figure which made Gordon gasp.

"I think they might do it for five quid. Each!"

Gordon couldn't believe it. To him that was two weeks wages. Each!

Joyce thought to herself, "This man is a better hustler than I am!"

She wondered if she should try for a lower price. The landlord smiled benignly at her.

"Shall I go and ask them?"

She was still shivering, still cold, still wet through. She had to go home. She wanted to be warm again, more than anything she'd ever needed in her whole life.

"All right then! Yes, please."

A deal was struck. Harry and Sid drank up. Gordon was invited to go as soon as Harry had put his oilskins on. His boat was moored just outside. They could go straight away.

Sid had to go for his pony and hitch it up to his cart.

"I'll find a few sacks to put on the cart," he said. "I use it for carrying fish normally and that should keep most of the smell away from you."

Joyce shuddered. She contemplated her forthcoming humiliation. She could either catch a late-night bus dishevelled, wet through and stinking of fish or be taken all the way home and risk people she knew seeing her as she was carted through the streets of late-night Morecambe! Some choice! She decided to opt for the second undesirable option. Hopefully, there would be nobody about to see her on a night like this.

"I'll bring a couple of extra sacks and a horse blanket for you. You can wrap yourself in the blanket and put the sacks over your head and shoulders. They'll help keep the weather out"

Joyce shuddered again!

The landlord indicated that payment would be needed before the lads made a move. She paid with some of her white five pound notes. It was the first time that Gordon had even seen a five pound note.

The landlord winked at his mates. "I'll settle up with you tomorrow, Sid. All right! You don't want to get the money wet do you?"

" Right, Georgie, that will be fine. You ready then, my friend?"asked the boatman.

Gordon was ready. He and Joyce held hands momentarily.

" See you soon!" she said, trying desperately to give him the famous Joyce eye. The effect was spoiled by her smudged mascara.

"Not if I see you coming first!" thought Gordon, as he left for the ordeal of his river trip with Harry.

It wasn't as bad as he'd dreaded. The tide was with them and Harry knew his way easily enough in the dark.

"Know the way like the back of my hand!" he shouted to Gordon who was sitting huddled and freezing-cold opposite him. After half an hour of Harry's steady rowing, they were parallel with the quayside where Gordon walked twice daily to-and-from work. They went between the stone piers supporting Carlisle Bridge. Not much further up river Gordon alighted onto some steps near the old Custom House.

"Good luck!" called the boatman from the river.

Gordon knew he was going to need all the good luck going in order to survive the next half an hour. He hurried across town to Stonewell, Moor Lane and home. It was well after midnight. The house was in complete darkness. Margaret was in bed. That was usual when he had an evening union meeting. She'd expected him to go for a pint with Brian so she hadn't waited up for him.

He turned the knob of the front door and went in quietly. He hadn't needed a key because they never bothered locking up. He took his wet coat off and hung it on a hook in the passage.

He felt his way in the dark into the living-room. It was still warm in there but the fire was out. He stripped off. Usually, he slept in his shirt and long underpants but he removed those because they were soaked. He placed his boots on the still hot hearth. He hoped they might dry out a bit by the morning. The rest of his clothes he deposited on the stone kitchen floor. He felt for the towel which hung there and rubbed himself vigorously with it, trying to make his blood circulate again.

He dare not light the gas-light. He was frightened one of the family would see it and come down to investigate. He'd chopped wood earlier but he couldn't see to lay the fire for the morning. He left it. He decided to creep up to bed.

There was a flickering light at the top of the stairs, coming from the night-light in Michael's bedroom. He went into his own room across from there. Margaret was fast asleep. He managed to slide into bed without waking her.

He lay there cold and shivering for a while but slowly warmed up.

"By some miracle I've got away with it," he thought. He wondered where he was going to find five pounds to repay Joyce.

"Never again!" he vowed to himself. "It's time I grew up."

He was just dropping off to sleep when another thought came into his head which kept him awake for another hour. He remembered that he'd left his union book on the shelf at the back of the seats in Joyce's car.

Usually, after a meeting he left his minutes book on the little table in the parlour. Margaret was bound to miss it when she dusted. How on earth was he going to retrieve it from Joyce?

Joyce was lucky on her way home that night. She was huddled on the cart and just about hidden beneath the horse blanket and sacks which Sid had provided. They progressed quite quickly to Morecambe Road, White Lund and Lancaster Road. They turned right for the market. By the roadside between the rows of empty, snow-covered stalls she asked to be set down. Sid complied and off he went. The clip-clopping of the pony's hooves was soon drowned by the howling wind.

Because of the lateness of the hour and the appalling weather there was no-one about. She did not meet a soul as she went across Queen Square and up the road to home. She let herself in. All was quiet. She went into the living-room which was situated behind the bar. There was still a glowing fire in the grate.

"Good old dad," she thought, "he's made the fire up for me before he went to bed."

She took all her smelly clothes off and carried them through to the scullery. There was a hot water tap in the kitchen and she washed herself carefully all over trying to be rid of her fishy smell.

She went back to the living-room and put some bits of coal on the fire. Soon there was a blaze. She lay down in front of the fire and roasted first one side of her freezing body then the other.

They say the only real happiness in life comes from being free from recent hardship. Lying there warm again, dry again, she felt a real content. The joy of basic home comforts!

Her normal optimism began to resurface. She liked excitement and the evening had been a bit of a laugh really. No doubt she and Gordon would see the funny side of it the next time they met.

She went to bed. Dad had put a hot-water bottle in for her. She sank down into the warmth and comfort of her soft mattress. She had a heap of blankets and an eiderdown on top of her. She put the hot-water bottle between her legs which was a great comfort.

She smiled to herself as she thought about the different expressions on Gordon's face during their adventure, which had varied from worry, through consternation to almost blind panic. Then she went to sleep until nine o'clock in the morning.

That afternoon, she caught a taxi to Pyes Garage, who transported her to the marooned car. They soon sorted the problem and started the engine. She drove the car and they escorted it as far as Morecambe Road.

When she noticed Gordon's book on the shelf, she was delighted. "I'll meet him out of work with it tomorrow," she thought. It gave her the excuse to see him again. She thought she'd have a chance to arrange another date with him.

She was wrong. It was a bad decision. Gordon had quite enjoyed his mates watching him being whisked away by Joyce after the union meeting. He knew they would be envious of him and he would walk tall in their eyes. He was confident that not one of them would let Margaret know what he'd done. Joyce meeting him coming out of work was something entirely different. It was the last thing he wanted. There were far too many inquisitive eyes around. She pipped her horn and attracted his attention -- along with that of about two hundred others unused to seeing Glamour in a nifty sports car outside the works.

A highly embarrassed Gordon went over and asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She was disgruntled by the look of fury on his face when he approached her. She held up the book. "This is yours! I thought you might be wanting it."

He should have been grateful. All he could think of was that he and she were a centre of attraction. Dozens of pairs of eyes were on them, watching their every move. He almost snatched the book from her with a brusque, "Thank-you!"

He was about to stride off, but uttered a few more words before he did so, "I'll give you the money I owe you as soon as I can."

Then he went away from her. She sat inert in the car for a few moments. She was left staring after him. The crowd of workers pouring out of the factory, now in their thousands, filled the road as well as the pavement. The car was trapped for a few minutes by their tide. When their numbers diminished and she could see ahead, Gordon had disappeared. He was with the leaders, way up the quay near Carlisle Bridge.

"Ah well," she thought, "you can't win them all. At least I've got some of my own back on Margaret after all these years. Sucks to you, Little Goody Two Shoes!"